Five Years
by mawnee
Summary: Nearing Christmas five years after the end of the war, Ivanova stumbles across an old friend at the airport. MarcusIvanova, pure fluff. Now a multichapter endeavor into what might have happened.
1. Five Years

This started as me exploring what could've happened if Marcus hadn't died, or done anything super drastic to save Susan. It turned into fluff, to the extent of bordering on plotless. But it was Christmas, and that's the best kind for that kind of year! Enjoy, and forgive the sap. ;)

* * *

"Thanks again for this, Ivanova. I really do appreciate it."

Susan clapped David Corwin on the shoulder and laughed. "Not a problem, kid," she assured him, "Have a good Christmas."

He nodded, hoisting his suitcase. "You too, or whatever you celebrate."

"Nothing, actually," she shrugged, "but thanks."

He smiled, heading for the security check. "See you later."

She grinned and pointed after him in mock warning. "Two weeks, major! On the command deck, not a minute later. Got it?"

"Yes, sir," he called back, turning to wave. "I'll be there."

She watched him go, handing his papers to the guard and disappearing into the crowd beyond the gate. Smiling slightly, she folded her hands behind her back and turned away. She'd miss the kid, but really, she had to remember that it was only two weeks. He'd been her constant companion, her friend, even her advisor from time to time. For the past four years, she'd hardly gone a day without seeing him. It was going to be strange.

And a little lonely.

She pushed the thought away with a deep breath and headed for the spaceport's exit. She had a long drive ahead of her, and an even longer walk if she lost concentration and wrecked her car. She made her way through the press of people by the doors, feeling the wash of cool air as she finally broke free into the open.

It was a dull day, just slightly below zero. The sky was the kind of brownish grey that promised heavy snowfall, and the air was blustery and damp. There would be a storm tonight; she'd know it even if she hadn't heard it on the forecast. She pulled her jacket closed, shivering slightly, and picked her way around slushy puddles.

Over the hum of the crowd there was a faint noise, a voice. She paused, listening. It was familiar, and it sounded like her name. She turned, squinting a little at the blurry mass of people. _Shoulda brought the damn glasses…_

Seeing no one she recognized, she shrugged it off and continued on her way. The noise came again, muffled by the breeze but definitely a voice. A British voice. Her chest tightened painfully and she looked back. A dark figure pushed his way out of the crowd and bounded toward her, stopping short and grinning broadly. She stared up at him, astounded.

"Marcus?" her voice squeaked slightly and she cleared her throat. "Good lord. You look… different." And he did, or at least she thought he did. For one, he was out of uniform—but still all in blacks, of course. His hair was shorter and neater, and overall he looked… well, cleaner. She half-shrugged helplessly and he laughed.

"So do you," he returned lightly. "I like the coat."

Smiling despite herself, she ducked her head. "Thanks." Looking back up at him, she asked, "What are you doing here?"

"On my way to see a friend," he replied drolly. "Ah," he looked at her pointedly. "Found her." Susan arched an eyebrow and he amended, "Business, unfortunately enough for this time of year. I have a contact on Io and am on my way to deliver some rather important tidbits to our office here on Earth."

"I thought you were still on Babylon 5," she said, both eyebrows now raised.

He shook his head. "A while after the coup, I requested a more… diverse arena."

"More diverse than Babylon 5," she repeated sceptically.

He laughed. "Well, if it's any consolation, I didn't get it. I've been back and forth between Minbar and here so many times I've stopped counting. Not exactly what I'd had in mind, but what can you do? After all," he quipped lightly, "a Ranger's life is sacrifice."

"I'm sure," she said, not at all sure what to say.

"What about you?" he asked, breaking the silence before it could stretch. "What brings you here?"

"Dropping off Corwin," she replied. "He's off to Mars to see his parents."

"David Corwin?"

She nodded. "Good kid, though I probably shouldn't call him that. He made Major a couple of years back."

"Good for him," Marcus agreed.

There was a long pause. Marcus shifted slightly and Susan glanced at her boots.

"This is absurd," she blurted. "Come on. It's freezing out. If we're going to talk, we might as well be warm."

Her car wasn't far. The little two-seater sat patiently near the edge of the lot and beeped in recognition as they approached. She pressed her thumb to the lock and the doors slid open with a whir. "Have a seat," she offered, taking the driver's chair for herself. Marcus dropped in next to her, and the doors slid closed.

The silence returned. Ivanova flipped the heater on and the familiar soft hiss filled the cabin.

"Do you—" she began, then broke off. "I mean, are you staying in town?"

"I'll find a hotel. With luck."

"Oh." She looked out the front windshield, where a Centauri in an oversized coat was struggling through the slush. She smiled slightly. "Come for dinner?"

Marcus blinked in surprise. "I'd love to."

* * *

The roads were slow until they cleared the city. _Everyone must be trying to get home for the holidays_, she mused in annoyance as yet another car slid into the lane in front of them. At last, they transferred onto a smaller branch of highway and the autodriver shut off, giving Susan something to do with her hands.

Because she certainly wasn't doing much with her mouth.

They'd chatted briefly about the weather, the traffic, everything they could think of that _didn't_ involve them. Now it was snowing lightly, the traffic was gone, and they'd run entirely out of things to say.

Susan glanced over at Marcus. He was gazing absently out the window, watching the grubby snow banks as they flew past. "You look nostalgic," she commented, turning her eyes back to the road.

"The planet I grew up on looked like this most of the time," he said. "Didn't much like the place, but I haven't seen real snow in years. It's almost nice."

Susan snorted. "Yeah, say that when you have to shovel thirty feet of walkway every morning."

He nodded sagely. "Fortunate for me, then, that I don't have to. But being the homeless bachelor that I am, I feel quite at liberty to say it just as often as I please."

She shook her head, smiling slightly. "Just don't involve me. This is it," she announced, turning them off the main road. They followed a rough lane a short ways between snow-covered trees and finally pulled up into a small gravel parking lot. Susan shut the car down and let it settle gently onto the ground. Getting out, she looked back at Marcus in horror. "You didn't have any bags, did you?"

"Nope," he said cheerily, stretching. "Homeless, remember? I try to travel light."

"Well, good, 'cause there is no way I'm driving all the way there to get them." She cleared her throat and motioned up the walkway. "Anyway, this is it. My friend's house, actually, but she had extra room. I'm not sure where she is…" There was no sign of her car to be had. She shrugged and opened the front door. "She'll probably be by later. So, welcome."

It was a sturdy house, made of modern panelling but finished inside with hewn logs and a real fireplace. They were standing in a large living room scattered with plush chairs and a couch. A wide doorway led into a kitchen, and a hall vanished behind a staircase.

"Extra room," Marcus echoed, impressed. "No kidding." Susan laughed, shrugging off her coat. She hung it over a hook on the wall and reached for Marcus's. "Thanks."

He slipped his boots off and placed them next to hers by the door, then followed her out to the kitchen, still staring around at the house. "I'm not much of a cook," Susan was warning him.

"I can't imagine you're that bad," he replied mildly, sliding onto a stool by the counter as she opened the fridge.

"Try harder," she grunted. "Here, there's some leftover Chinese from yesterday. You don't mind, do you? It's a safer bet."

He smiled. "Not at all."

The food in the heater, she eased herself onto a stood opposite him. The drive had left her feeling tired, and she reached for the coffee pot. Holding it up, she asked, "Want some?"

"No, thanks."

"Really?" She stretched to her right to grab her mug from the sink. "I can't get enough. It's so much better than that crap they serve on ships; even cold this is amazing."

He eyed her as she sipped the full cup. "Have you been home long?"

"Home?" she repeated, as if the word had caught her off guard. "I'm more at home on my ship, to be honest. I've been _here_ about a week now."

"Your ship… the _Titans_, right?"

She blinked, surprised. "Yeah. How'd you know?"

"I follow the news. There were bits and pieces from time to time, mostly right after the coup, you being the big hero and all."

"Only thanks to you," she muttered, looking down at her mug. "If you hadn't… I'd be dead right now."

"I'd never let that happen," he told her, taking one of her hands and squeezing briefly.

She looked up at him, smiling slightly. "I know. Thanks, Marcus."

The timer on the heater beeped and Susan stood quickly to get it, anything further she might have been going to say interrupted. She brought the tray over and set it down on a cork mat, then fetched two plates from the cupboard. "Sorry about all the mess, by the way," she commented, digging into the clean dishwasher for forks. "With David leaving this morning, we didn't have time to clean up."

"Not a problem," he said cheerfully, going to the fridge. "I don't suppose you've got any beer?"

"Yeah, we should," she called over her shoulder, digging large serving spoons into the steaming leftovers. "Bottom rack on the left?"

"Ah," he said with satisfaction. "Found them. Do you want one?"

"Sure, why not?" she smiled, tossing him the opener. He popped the tops off both and handed her one, sitting back down on his stool.

"This smells wonderful," he said emphatically.

She laughed. "See? Told you it'd be better than anything I'd make."

There was a thump from the living room and a questioning shout of hello. Two Humans, a man and a woman, stepped through the door, bringing with them a gust of frigid air and snow. The woman caught sight of Marcus in the kitchen and paused, a slow grin spreading across her face. Susan rose to meet her, an alarmed frown spreading with slightly more speed across hers.

"Susan…" the woman said, now grinning impishly, "Who's this?"

Susan did her best to suppress the flush that threatened to creep up her cheeks. "This is Marcus," she said as calmly as she could. "Marcus, Beth. And Tom. Hi."

Tom looked up from unlacing his boots and gave a little wave. "Hi."

A sharp elbow in her side brought Susan back to Beth. "So, you two are…?"

"No!" Susan hissed back, glad that at least her friend had the discretion to ask her privately before blabbing something stupid to Marcus. "No, we're just old friends. I invited him for supper."

"Well I think he'll be staying for more than supper," Tom spoke up, "By the look of that storm out there."

"Oh, great," Susan groaned, irritated. She'd forgotten the storm. "Marcus, I'm sorry. If you have something on back in town that you have to get to—" She looked over at him helplessly, apologetically.

His eyes widened. "No, no I don't. That's fine, if it's all right with you. I don't want to impose."

"It's perfectly fine," Beth assured him, patting him on the shoulder as she passed him on her way to the kitchen. She picked at a mushroom in the still-untouched dinner. "Thanks for using this up, by the way."

"No problem," Susan called distractedly. She'd wanted to have a chance to talk to Marcus again, sure, but staying _overnight_? It wasn't exactly part of the plan.

And it was even more _not part of the plan_ when the lights flickered once and went out.

There was stunned silence for a moment, and then a pleased giggle echoed through the room. "Isn't this romantic?"

"Wonderful," Susan grumbled. "Where's the generator?"

"I don't know." Tom's voice. "It should've kicked in by now. I'll go have a look."

* * *

"You're not serious."

They were standing on the back porch, hopping from sock-foot to sock-foot and peering down over the railing. Tom was hunched over a large, dark box on the ground, brushing bits of snow away as it blew in again relentlessly. "Yep, it's frozen!" he called up.

"How is that possible?" Susan shouted, hurrying awkwardly down the snow-covered steps to get a look at the generator. "These things _never _freeze."

"Apparently, this one does." Tom frowned, prying the casing off the side to look beneath. "I have no idea…"

"Let me see." He sidled over and she glared down at the generator, trying to ignore that her feet were throbbing with cold. The darkness made it nearly impossible to see anything, and the whirling snow continuously filled in the exposed cavities. She brushed it away, struggling to see inside, but came up with nothing. "Damn it," she grunted, whacking the uncooperative machine and turning away. "You must have battery-powered lights, right?"

"Sure," Tom nodded, sounding much too unsure for Ivanova's liking. "Loads of them."

There was _one_. An ancient, heavy thing, with a flickering beam of white light. Ivanova was going to strangle Beth, just for her totally inadequately prepared house. As soon as she could walk, that was.

She sat on the edge of the stone hearth while Tom worked at building a fire. Her socks were gone, draped over the back of a chair with the others', and she held one bare foot clasped between both hands. Even in the dim light of the flames, she could pick out the telltale signs of mild frostbite: the stark white and numbness. The flesh was stiff to her touch, not to mention literally freezing cold, and she rubbed it in annoyance. It hurt, quite badly, but she was not about to make any comment. Yelling in frustration and pounding a fist into a wall was also strictly out of the question. So, she gritted her teeth and rubbed harder.

"Frostbite?" Marcus had seated himself next to her, unnoticed. She looked up at him sharply, startled.

"No," she lied. "Just cold." He didn't press the issue and she was glad. Having him rubbing one of her feet would just have been awkward and inappropriate in far too many ways.

Tom rocked back on his heels and clapped his hands in satisfaction. "There. Not a bad fire, if I do say so myself."

"Looks excellent," Marcus agreed cheerfully, leaning forward to see around Susan.

Tom retreated to the nearby couch, beside Beth, and leaned over to reach his open beer on the side table. Taking a swig, he surveyed the two guests. "So Marcus, where are you from? England?" Susan's attention shifted from her foot to the man beside her. He'd never told her much about his past, and she'd admittedly always been a bit curious.

"Arisia Colony, actually."

"Never heard of it." Typical Tom: blunt, and a little stupid.

"And probably never will." Marcus smiled faintly. "It was a bit of a dump really, and a frozen one at that. Worst kind, if you ask me. Makes digging something awful on the machinery."

"Sounds lovely," Tom chuckled.

"A mining colony?" Beth inquired. Marcus nodded, but said nothing further.

A slight waft of sweet spice reached Susan's nose and she raised her head abruptly. "We never ate." As if reactivated by the realization, her stomach grumbled plaintively.

Marcus stood. "I'll get it."

She opened her mouth to protest, but he was already gone. She thanked him silently for both his thoughtfulness and his discretion, and had to erase the vague smile she felt forming on her lips. _What's wrong with you, Ivanova? Haven't seen him for five years and you're fawning all over him! Pull yourself together._

_And fix your goddamn feet!

* * *

_

The house cooled surprisingly quickly. By eleven, they were wrapped in blankets and shivering as they laid out camping mattresses and cushions near the fireplace. The flashlight had long since run itself down and had been discarded in a corner somewhere, while the dinner dishes were stacked haphazardly in the kitchen sink. Tom and Beth had already retired to their mattress, lying snuggled closely together for warmth as much as anything else.

Susan dashed upstairs to go about her usual ablutions, cursing the frigid panelling beneath her feet. She felt her way into her room, fumbling slightly with the drawers in the darkness. Finally, her fingers met the slippery material of her pyjamas and she hauled them out, not caring if she made a mess of the rest of her clothes in the process. They could be tidied in the morning, when it was warmer.

She stripped quickly and was halfway through fastening her top when she heard footsteps outside. "Marcus?" she called quietly.

"Oh, Susan." He sounded relieved. "You wouldn't be so kind as to direct me to the lavatory?"

She paused, hurrying her stiff fingers to finish the buttons. Then, realizing that he really couldn't see a thing, let alone whether or not her shirt was done up properly, she headed for the door and guided him by memory down the hallway. "Here," she said, giving him a slight push into the room on the left. "I think."

He felt about for a moment. "Unless you have a toilet in every room, I should rather think so too."

She laughed quietly and moved to leave, but ending up walking straight into him. She jerked back, muttered an apology, and slipped away. Cautiously, she descended the staircase and padded over towards the glow of the fire. It was dying down; she crouched to put another log on. What a heavenly feeling, sitting on the warm stones of the hearth and letting the heat wash over her. She could almost fall asleep…

Suddenly, strong hands were holding her, half-carrying her. She opened bleary eyes to see Marcus above her and started. "What're you doing?" she hissed angrily. "Let go of me!"

"Saving you from a very nasty death," he informed her, releasing his hold. She scuttled off the cold hardwood and onto a mattress, glaring up at him. "You were leaning dangerously towards the fire," he clarified, sitting down on the remaining bed.

"Oh." She glanced at the fire automatically. "Thanks."

In awkward silence, they shuffled down beneath their blankets. Susan lay on her side, facing away from Marcus and trying not to shiver. She could sense him, just a few feet away, a tantalizing promise of warmth. Tom and Beth's soft snoring drifted over her, a sound she normally found lulling. Tonight, it only seemed to make her more alert.

"Good night," Marcus wished her quietly and she nearly jumped.

"Night," she returned after a moment. Deliberately, she closed her eyes and tried to will her mind into stillness.

It wouldn't work. No matter what she did – she even briefly resorted to reciting regs – she kept coming back to the Ranger next to her. She revisited their last encounter: the painful formality out of some need for distance, and then a sudden collision, a tight hug, and then sweeping away without another word. She'd thought about those moments more times over the past years than she cared to admit, recalling the feel of his arms around her and the confusing swell of emotion that had nearly brought tears to her eyes. She'd tried to break it down, to analyse it, to shut it away and never feel it again, but to her unending frustration nothing had worked.

A snap from the fire echoed in the room and Susan's eyes popped open. Adrenaline making her heart thud against her ribs, she mentally shook a fist at the world and tried again to relax.

The whisper that came a few minutes later did nothing to help.

"Still awake?"

She considered not answering. It would avoid the uncomfortable conversation that was sure to ensue if she spoke up, but it would also mean lying here, completely alert, and knowing that _he_ was awake too, and probably watching her. Combine that with her already jumped-up senses and she would _never_ fall asleep. But then, of course, there was the idea of getting things settled. Maybe if they had this little Talk things could go back to normal, whatever normal was, and they could… get along. Five years ago, she might've scoffed at the concept of getting along with Marcus, but over the time that had passed, she'd decided that he really wasn't that bad.

She'd heard that absence made the heart grow fonder. Maybe that was the reason. Maybe she'd just grown up a little somewhere along the way. Maybe it was that damn Corwin's influence on her.

Whatever the explanation, she rolled onto her back to look over at Marcus and pulled a dour face. "Unfortunately."

He grinned. "While I must confess I'm not exactly experienced in the area, I can't imagine my midnight conversation is really that bad."

"It's gotta be after midnight," she grumbled. "At least, I _hope_ it's after midnight."

"Not by much," he said, holding up a small chronometer.

"Twelve thirteen," she read. "Great." She stared dourly up at the ceiling. Shivering suddenly, she shimmied a little further down beneath the blankets. "Dammit, you'd think for all the insulation this place would keep its heat a little better."

He chuckled. "I've always found cold quite the force to be reckoned with."

"What, your ships weren't heated?" She looked over at him, vaguely alarmed.

"Not always very effectively," he shrugged.

She shook her head. "Non-profit organizations. I'll talk to John about getting you some more funding."

"Me personally?" He raised his eyebrows. "That'd be awfully nice of him, but I don't think the taxpayers would take so kindly to it. I've never been much of a fan of pickforks…"

She laughed a little louder than she meant to and clapped a hand over her mouth, casting a quick glance at Tom and Beth's sleeping forms. "You…" she said, shaking her head again and sitting up to move closer to the fire, "You self-absorbed…"

"I am terrible, aren't I?" He grinned.

She settled on the edge of the hearth, pulling her blankets up over her knees. The heat of the fire washed over her back, and she smiled faintly at the welcome sensation. "Why didn't we ever work out, Marcus?" she asked, picking at a wrinkle in her blanket.

He shifted on his mattress, sitting up to see her better. She didn't look at him. "Work out as in exercise?" he questioned. "Because I was rather under the impression we did quite a lot of that, war and all." She met his eyes out of irritation and arched a brow. He gave a half-sheepish grimace. "Sorry. Habit."

"I know," she muttered. It'd been five years, but she still knew. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched him stand and come towards her. He sat next to her on the warm stones and she looked over at him.

"I think," he said carefully, "it was just… never the right time."

"That sounds like one of _my _excuses," she muttered.

"Excuses?" he echoed teasingly. "You needed excuses to resist me?"

She gave him a little shove. "Don't flatter yourself."

"So then," he mused, "if not to resist my obvious charms, what _did_ you need excuses for?"

"I don't know," she grumbled. "Forget it."

"No," he persisted, "I'm curious."

"And I'm serious," she countered. "Forget it."

He chuckled softly but obligingly fell silent. A moment later, she looked over at him again. "I think this is why," she said slowly. "Why we never worked out, I mean. And before you make some other stupid comment, I'm talking about me. Being an idiot."

Automatically, he spoke up in her defence. "You've never been an idiot."

"Wasting all that time and almost getting us both killed?" she scoffed. "I call that being an idiot." She grinned self-deprecatingly, almost a grimace. "And now it's too late."

"Is it?" he questioned, regarding her curiously. "Why? I still love you, Susan." It was the first time he'd said it, and admittedly it had slipped out unintentionally, but it didn't startle either of them. It was old news, really.

"I know," she said quietly. "I _knew_. If _that's_ not being an idiot, I don't know what is." She leaned her elbows on her knees, watching the darkness across the room.

There were three stones between them on the hearth. She glanced down at them, wondering how it was possible that, after having been so far apart for so long, those dozen inches could feel like half a galaxy. She was cold, despite the fire's heat on her back, and she felt _alone_. More than she ever had, she wanted to touch him. It just wasn't possible. Too much had happened, too much had changed—

But then, somehow, he'd reached across all that space between them and he was kissing her, and all the reasons why it couldn't work, or why it hadn't worked, just didn't seem to matter.

He was infinitely tender, barely touching her. Anywhere else, with anyone else, she might've been annoyed by it, but here, with him, she could hardly imagine any other way. He cupped her cheek with one hand, just enough to feel the warmth of her skin. She let her lips part, brushing over his again and again until something seemed to snap. She caught his face between her hands and pulled him close, open mouth claiming his. He didn't resist, meeting her assault with equal, if not greater, fervour. His hands slipped into her hair, loose for the night, and though it wasn't as long as it'd been back on the station, he loved it just as well. And though _she_ wasn't quite the same she'd been back on the station, he loved _her_ just as well.

In fact, he thought he might love her even better.

He kissed her all the more ardently for this realization, and she was far from protesting. Beneath her fingers, his beard was rough and tickled her cheeks, but not unpleasant. Her fingers had soon moved on, anyhow, down to his shoulders and back as she shifted closer, across the three stones, to wind her arms about his neck. His tongue was velvet against hers, warm and strong and a little dark – more than a little seductive. She couldn't get enough.

She pulled him closer, feeling his arms go around her back, his hands exploring. She'd always loved his hands, seemingly good at everything they did, whether it was wielding a pike or fixing a transmitter. This was proving to be no exception. He wasn't hesitant, or shy, and his hands were firm as they sought out the contours of her body. He broke away from her mouth to kiss down her jaw, her neck, her shoulder, lingering a moment on the hollow and well of her collarbone before moving back up to the edge of her jaw. She tipped her head back, eyes closed, to give him all the access he could want, and caught her breath as he bit down softly.

Straightening, she brought his mouth back to hers with new fervour, shifting again to get one leg over his. Straddling him, she bent to kiss his neck, smiling against him as his beard tickled her lips. He must've felt it, because his chest thrummed with a quiet laugh. She drew back enough to look at him, and they locked half-amused gazes for a moment before the lack of contact became too much and they crashed back together.

He kissed her hungrily, and she responded in kind. Those wonderful hands of his were everywhere, where she'd known she'd wanted them and where they were a surprise – a pleasant one. Very pleasant, she thought dimly, as they slid down her back to pull her closer still, as close as humanly possible. Through the thin layer of her pyjamas and the denim of his pants, she could feel him pressing into her, and with a slightly wicked grin, shifted her hips. He groaned into her smirking mouth and she moved again, experimenting with her new-found power.

"I concede the point," he muttered, hands on her hips to still them while he made an attempt at rationality. "You're an idiot. We should've done this sooner."

She thumped his chest lightly. "Stop talking," she grinned.

Behind Marcus, the fire cracked like a gunshot. Susan started back, staring at him wide-eyed. "Fire," he said huskily, by way of explanation.

She stayed frozen a moment longer, then fell forward in silent laughter, leaning her forehead against his shoulder. She looked sideways at Tom and Beth. "We're going to wake them," she struggled to whisper, fighting off her laughter.

He chuckled softly. "Under normal circumstances, I'd recommend we find ourselves our own room, but I'm afraid we'd freeze."

She nodded. "Damn winter." Pausing, she lifted her head. "Did you just imply that you'd been in this situation before?"

"Not precisely _this_ situation," he stressed, "but um, yes, similar."

"So you're not—" she eyed him, half-amused and half somewhere around jealous. "I mean, you've…?"

He nodded.

"With _who_?" It came out probably a little louder than was necessary. "I mean, not that it's a problem, I just thought…"

"There actually is a bit of a story to it, you know," he said, embarrassed, "and a moral to go with: _never_ trust Londo Mollari when he offers you wine."

"He didn't," she gaped, horrified. "It was spiked?"

"Naturally."

"And let me guess: he sent a dancer to 'make sure you were all right,'" she deduced, half-heartedly imitating the former ambassador's accent. Marcus nodded. "You lost it to a hooker," she groaned. He nodded again, looking at once embarrassed and amused. She shook her head, "At least you can see some humour in it. If he'd done that to me…"

"Yes," Marcus agreed, "I imagine he wouldn't have survived the night, extensive personal guard or no."

"Damn right," she murmured, leaning back into him. She passed her lips over his. "So how was it?"

"Mm," he mumbled, hands sliding up her spine. "Don't remember much, really. I'm pretty sure she was Human, though – guess I got lucky in that aspect…"

She grinned. "There've been others." It was more of a question than a statement, but lightly asked.

"A couple," he admitted. "Rangers. Also Human," he added quickly. "More of business arrangements really. Deep space solo assignments tend to be rather lonely. When you meet up with the others you take advantage of the company."

She nodded, agreeing despite her mild surprise at his nonchalance. She could relate though, to some extent. She'd had her share of deep space assignments, though she hadn't exactly been solo. "I slept with my XO," she confided casually, catching the edge of his ear with her lips.

Now it was his turn to pull back. "_Corwin_?"

She laughed. "No. The first cruise, I had someone else. Corwin was still on Babylon 5."

Marcus shook his head, chuckling a bit. "Isn't that illegal? Sleeping with your second?"

She shrugged, shifting her weight against him to get the conversation back on a better track. He groaned softly. "Definitely illegal," she breathed. "Do you mind?"

"No," he said obligingly, voice husky. "Not at all."

There was a soft rustle from off to the side and Susan broke away, gaze following the sound. Beth was rolling over. Susan shot away from Marcus, standing barefoot on the chilled floor and watching with bated breath to see if her friend was awake. The teasing would never, _never_ stop…

Beth sighed sleepily, at last finding a comfortable position. In the darkness, Susan couldn't tell if her eyes were open or closed. Tentatively, she gave a little wave. No reaction. She let her breath out in relief, looking back at Marcus.

"Too close," she whispered.

Silhouetted by the fire, she couldn't see his expression, but he stood and moved toward her. "The woman who broke half the rule-book to screw her second worries about being caught with someone actually _legal_." She could hear the smile in his voice. He ran his hands over her arms, crossed beneath her chest to dispel the cold. "You _are_ strange. Did you know that?"

"I've been told," she confessed, smiling.

He gathered her gently to his chest. She went willingly, glad for his warmth. "I would've thought they'd have been too afraid to mention it. Good for them." He paused. "At least, I hope you didn't toss them out an airlock."

"No," she said, "considering he was my superior."

"Ah," he agreed, "might not have been such a good idea."

She laughed a bit, then pulled herself out of his embrace. "Come on, it's freezing. Let's try to get some sleep. There'll be one hell of a shovelling job tomorrow."

There would be indeed, and when Susan awoke in the morning light, the thought of the task ahead kept her wrapped securely beneath her blankets. Through the partially snow-covered windows, she could see the flakes continuing to fall. _Wonderful_, she thought ill-temperedly, _not only will it take hours, we'll have to do it _twice.

Beside her, on another mattress, Marcus stirred slightly. Susan shifted to watch him. Asleep, he looked remarkably peaceful. Younger, even, with his hair tousled about his head. The image made her smile faintly, but worry for what would happen when he woke niggled at her stomach. She pushed at it, irritated. Why the hell was she worrying? She always did it. But it was _Marcus_, for chrissake. He'd loved her for years. He wasn't about to stop now.

And that was the problem, she realized with another pang of annoyance. This _couldn't_ be just a fling. It was going to last, or it wouldn't happen at all. And he would leave the choice to her, of course.

While she'd always preferred being in charge of her own life, this was one decision she really wished someone else would make. Automatically, almost by sheer force of habit, she was inclined to let it drop – move on and go another five years without seeing him. But the relentlessly stubborn part of her argued that she was just being a coward and should go for it. Yet another part didn't want to listen to _that_, because it might just be saying what it said for the sake of being stubborn. So, she was left with two votes that said no and one that said yes.

In the end, they were all worthless. The one vote that could possibly count was her own. That required her heart, though, and it had been so deeply buried for so long she wasn't sure she could even find it, let alone extract an opinion.

"You know," said a sleepy voice from her left, "I think I could get used to this." Susan looked over at Marcus again. He was smiling. "Waking up next to the most beautiful woman on the planet."

She snorted softly. "As if I'm—"

"You are," he interrupted firmly. "And I'm lucky enough to have fallen in love with you."

"Lucky," she echoed. "Right." She regarded him for a moment. "Are you sure you know what you're signing up for?"

He nodded, still smiling. "Wouldn't have it any other way."

Her heart thudded.

She stretched across the gap between them and kissed him gently. It was decided, unanimously. One vote for and all the others didn't matter.

For the first time in a _very_ long time, Captain Susan Ivanova, EarthForce, was following her heart.

And _she_ wouldn't have it any other way either.


	2. Five Minutes

Okay, so now we have me exploring this timeline more, because it's just so much nicer than the real one. I mean, the canon one. The real one too, of course, since they don't exist at all... Anyway. There'll be another chapter as well. They don't go in sequence. You may notice. You _should_ notice. If not, I have problems. This one's way back in the day.

* * *

Susan felt heavy. It wasn't a feeling she particularly liked, but it was better than pain. Here, now, there wasn't any pain. That was good. She wasn't quite sure why there might've been pain, or perhaps why there _should _have been pain, but there wasn't any and she was happy for it.

Though happy might not have been the right word.

She wasn't happy. She didn't really know why, but she felt rather sad. Worried. About what, she wasn't sure. She wasn't sure of much. Maybe confusion should have been at the top of her emotional list.

Slowly, her eyes opened. That too, she wasn't sure about. Did she do that? Or did they open by themselves? Whichever it was, she found herself looking at the much-too-familiar ceiling of Medlab 2. She blinked.

The ceiling changed; the lights vanished. She sat bolt upright, body blessedly light, and stared around. She was in her quarters, not Medlab. The lights flicked on as she worked to collect her thoughts, and the computer's calm voice informed her that she had no meetings scheduled for the morning, and that it was still ungodly early. She groaned and flopped back against the pillows.

The dream kept coming back. It wasn't a bad dream, it was just always the same. She didn't particularly _like_ it, though, or the memories it brought with it. But, hopefully, it wouldn't bother her much longer.

She was leaving.

With that thought in mind, she pushed herself out of bed and headed for the shower. She dressed quickly, tucking her pyjamas into the already-full suitcase on the floor, and combed out her hair. Putting the comb away too, she made a tour of the rooms, peering under tables and couches for anything she might've forgotten. Nothing. She set her hands on her hips and took a decided breath. That was that.

She was leaving.

She lifted her suitcase with one hand and heaved the strap up over her shoulder. By the door, she stopped to take one last look around, and then stepped out into the corridor.

She'd left.

And she'd managed to get halfway to the turbolift before a painfully familiar voice brought her to an abrupt halt. She turned.

"Susan!" Marcus said brightly. "Oh, good! I'm so glad I managed to catch you. Mr. Allen told me you were leaving." He looked pointedly at her suitcase. "And I see it's true."

She shrugged, resuming her walk. He followed. "Where're you going?'

"Away," she muttered. She looked at the ground as it passed beneath her feet, she looked at the lift's control panel, and she didn't look at him.

"Why?'" he persisted. "You love it here."

She raised an eyebrow at that. "I wanted a… change of scenery," she said, still facing the wall. He certainly didn't need to know that she was leaving mainly because of him.

He smiled, or rather, smirked. "Somewhere with a garden and a four-poster bed?"

Taken off guard, she looked over at him. She snorted slightly, smiling despite herself. "Unfortunately, no," she admitted. "I've accepted a post aboard a ship."

"A post aboard a ship," he echoed, sounding it out. "Now, pardon me my lack of military understanding, but isn't a captain usually a post _in command_ of a ship, not a post _aboard_ it?"

She ducked her head, grinning. She had never thought she'd feel so good about telling _him_, of all people. "It's a command," she agreed. "A Warlock-class." She wondered if he could see just how proud she was of it, even if leaving Babylon 5 made it bittersweet.

"Congratulations," he said sincerely as they stepped out of the lift.

"Thanks, Marcus," she said, letting her proud grin soften as they approached the security checkpoint. "For… well," she cleared her throat, "For everything, I guess. I couldn't have gotten it if you hadn't…" She shook her head and laughed vaguely. "Obviously. Dead people don't command ships."

"No," he agreed. "Or at least, they really shouldn't. But you know I only did what was right."

She shrugged and laughed again, shifting on her feet. Revisiting _any_ of those memories wasn't high on her to-do list. "Well. I should probably get going. The others are waiting for me on the loading deck. I'll uh, I'll see you around, I guess."

He smiled and nodded. "Enjoy your ship, Susan," he told her. "You deserve it."

He extended his hand to her. She stared at it for a moment, then set her suitcase aside to take it in hers. "Thanks," she said. "I'll keep in touch."

"No," he said lightly, "You won't."

She grimaced. "You're probably right. But it's not as if I'm never coming back here again. It's not the last time I'll see you." She reached for her formal smile. Those nice warm tingles of pride were giving way to a demanding ache. She _needed_ some sort of formality to keep herself in check. If it slipped, she'd do something she'd regret. If it slipped—

His hold on her tightened slightly, almost imperceptibly. He wasn't letting go. Neither was she. She stared down at her hand, willing it to release him. Nothing.

"Susan?"

She looked up at him.

His lips twitched into a feeble smile. "I can't say I won't miss you."

Slip.

And before she could quite realize that she'd taken the step forward, her arms were around him and she'd somehow decided that _this_ was what she was never letting go of. "Marcus," she choked, involuntary, as he completed the embrace. Strong arms holding her crushed to his chest, her fingers trying desperately to establish some permanent hold on his back, she caught a shaky breath. _Oh god._

She'd slipped.

She owed this man so much, more than she could ever hope to repay. He'd nearly given his own life to save hers, most notably but not only this most recent time. There had been other incidents, missions she probably wouldn't have made it back from if it hadn't been for him, and while it wasn't as if she'd never done anything for him, she _owed_ him.

After all these years of annoyance and bickering, she was finally coming to the realization that she needed him. He was her friend, probably one of her closest. So now she was running from him, because she owed him and because he was her friend. What kind of a friend did that make her?

She wrenched herself away with a gasp. She met his eyes for half a beat, then lurched back and grabbed up her suitcase. Silent, stunned, she turned and fled to the launch bay.

And made the rest of her journey alone.


End file.
